


Through the House Give Gathering Light

by hesterbyrde



Series: And the Devil Makes Three [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blood, Deaf Clint Barton, Flashbacks, Interrogation, Kidnapping, Multi, Nudity, Oral Sex, PTSD, Polyamory, Rescue Missions, Sex, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M, Torture, Waterboarding, shower scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-17 03:54:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4651227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hesterbyrde/pseuds/hesterbyrde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Phil's surveillance mission goes catastrophically wrong and he ends up in enemy hands, Fury sends Natasha and Clint with a carte blanche to bring him home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When Devils will the Blackest Sins Put On

**Author's Note:**

> This fic follows on from "And I Went Home" but it can stand on its own. It doesn't contain any spoilers for anything in the MCU as it takes place several years before Iron Man. 
> 
> Special shout out goes to Autumn_Froste, who requested a sequel. Here's to you, my dear!
> 
> I'll be sure to post content warnings at the beginnings of chapters for sensitive material, but in case I forget, check the tags. It's all there.
> 
> Fic title comes from "A Midsummer Night's Dream" and the chapter title is taken from "Othello." I'm feeling Shakespearian for some reason.
> 
> Feedback, comments, kudos and such are all very much appreciated! Hope you enjoy!

Ever since their first mission together in Spain five years prior, the trio of Strike Team Delta had never spent more than twenty four hours apart. Barring time spent in medical of course, which was not rare in and of itself, but the medical team at the Triskelion tried their best to limit any Delta team member’s time there. Mostly because if one of them was in the med bay, the other two were making nuisances of themselves to the doctors and nurses. It would be cute, if they all weren't so deadly.

And that was how it was with those three. Wherever one was, the other two were always trailing somewhere behind. Waiting after meetings. Showing up for lunch. Dropping in on training exercises. And when the three of them were on mission, every one could pretty much debrief before they even left the hangar. They were like soul mates. Deadly, near-telepathic soul mates.

That’s why it had been such a slap in the face when Fury announced out of the blue that Coulson would be going with a different team on a two week observational mission in rural Appalachia. Eyes only. No contact or combat. They might have done nothing more than frown at the oddity, but Fury had made the mistake of putting too much stress on that fact. And then all three noticed right away that there were exactly zero combat specialists on the team.

“So if it’s eyes only, why do you need me?” Coulson asked. “I’ve been running hot ops for years now. Even before Delta.”

“I’ll fill you in on the details at the briefing tomorrow. This is your eyes only, but the long and the short of it is that this has to be a small communications team and I need your resourcefulness.” Fury answered, unhelpfully.

“At least let us go as a security detail.” Barton had offered, but Fury just shook his head.

“I just need Coulson.”

The back and forth continued for the better part of an hour, but Fury refused to budge. “I need him for this one.” he kept saying.

And each time he did, Clint would glance at Natasha, whose jaw was set so tight he was afraid she might break a tooth. Neither of them liked it, and from the looks of it, neither did Coulson. But what was to be done? Fury had given the order, and they'd taken his word on countless more dangerous missions than this. There was nothing more to be done.

***

“It doesn’t feel right.” Natasha said, throwing another swinging kick into Clint’s padded hand.

“I know, Tasha.” he soothed mechanically for what had to be the hundredth time that week. 

“I fucking know, you know, Clint.” she snapped, executing the same kick again but swiftly following it with another. 

Clint barely got the other mitt up in time, but he grabbed her calf and flipped her to the mat. “Look, it’s always been like this. Before you got here I mean.” He told her. She snarled and tried to twist out of his grasp, succeeding in landing an elbow to his ribs. Clint flipped her back into the prone position, pinning her with his knee. “Phil or I went on missions separately sometimes, and because Phil had a higher clearance than I did, I didn’t always know what he was doing. If you don't like it, yell at Phil for not putting up more of a fight.”

“But we all have the same clearance.” she argued, ceasing her struggling with a frustrated huff, and tapping him on the thigh. Clint let her up and she rolled to her knees, shoulders sagging. “And you know I'd never yell at him.” she sighed, dragging her hair out of the messy ponytail that had kept it contained. She toyed with the hair tie for a moment before looking up at her partner “Clint, you can’t tell me something doesn’t smell off about this.”

He had to use every ounce of effort to make himself smile. “Something smells off about you.” he joked, leaning over and giving her a soft peck on the lips which she answered with a half-hearted shove. “Come on. Lets grab showers and get some take-out on-”

“Barton? Romanoff?” The two agents turned to find Jasper Sitwell standing at the doorway of the gym. “I… word just came across the wire that Coulson’s team hasn’t made a comms check in for 36 hours. I thought you would want to know.” He looked up at them guiltily, both for having to be the bearer of bad news and for probably breaking protocol. He didn't wait for a response before scurrying away.

Clint’s eyes snapped to Natasha’s face. She had gone pale, her face totally blank. She held his gaze for half a breath before they both bolted for Fury’s office. Everyone they passed must have seen “murder” written on their faces. Clots of agents in the corridors parted like the Red Sea as they stormed across the Triskelion. Not even the agents guarding Fury’s office stood in their way.

They threw the doors open to find Fury on the phone, one finger already raised to hold them at bay.

“Yes, Agent Hill. Do a thermal sweep of the area with an unmanned drone. We can’t risk a Quinjet or more people until we know their tactical options at their current location... Yes, Agent. Have Richards send me the casualty list. I’ll make the necessary phone calls personally... Actually they are currently glowering at me so, I should go deal with them before you get an unscripted promotion. Thank you, Agent Hill. Fury out.” He set the phone in its cradle, and threaded his fingers together on top of his desk with a long, hissing sigh. “I take it Sitwell informed you that Coulson’s team hasn’t made their last two comm checks?”

“You’d be correct.” Clint ground out.

“And Jasper wonders why I won’t promote him to level four.” Fury mused, a humorless smile pulling at his lips.

“Cut the bullshit, Fury.” Barton snapped. “What happened to Coulson and his team?”

“Well, I can’t answer the entirety of that question.” Fury replied, his tone careful and even. “I know that his team is all dead. Found executed at their operations center after they missed the second comms check.” Natasha sucked in a sharp breath, making Fury hold up a hand. “But we didn’t find Coulson. Evidence suggests that he might have been forcibly removed to the site being observed. We have not been contacted for negotiation or ransom, so our assumption is that he's been taken for interrogation.”

“Taken by who?” Barton ground out.

“A militia group in a remote part of the Appalachian Mountains in West Virginia. Anti-enhanced... powered people. However you want to phrase it.” Fury replied. “The reason we were observing them is that we believe they have ties to a senator who has voiced some less than friendly sentiments towards S.H.I.E.L.D. and Index candidates. From the outside they looked like any garden variety group of Second Amendment militia crazies, but in reality, they're interested in genetic cleansing, specifically involving powered people. Normally in situations like these, we like to disarm the target, but we wanted to gather intel on this senator supporting them first. Find out their sources. Other ties they might have. With a high ranking government official involved, it had to be handled with great care, which is why I needed the best.”

“But you know where Coulson is?” Barton pressed, taking a step forward.

“We do.”

“So when are you going to get him?” Natasha asked, straightening to attention.

“That's... the rub.” Fury said softly.

The room fell eerily quiet for a moment before Barton spoke, his voice low and careful. “What do you mean, exactly?”

“S.H.I.E.L.D. itself can't go in.” Fury replied, flattening his hands on the desk top. “It will set off the whole tinderbox. This Congressman, Senator Warren Alberts, will likely use this incident as an excuse to begin a public campaign against us. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if he's baiting us. And because of that, the World Council is tying my hands.”

“So... what? You're just going to leave Coulson there?”

“That's what the World Security Council wants me to do. But, somehow I doubt you'd let me do that, even if I was inclined to, which I assure you, I am not.” Fury replied with a tight smile. “But I can't authorize a full rescue operation. What I can do is give you a QuinJet, whatever equipment you need, and my best wishes as you go rescue him yourselves, fully bereft of any ties to S.H.I.E.L.D. until you get him back.”

Natasha nodded stiffly, falling into a detail posture that Clint hadn't seen since their early mission briefings together. “Understood.” she stated flatly. “What do we know?”

Fury snorted at her instantaneous reply. “They are holed up here.” He said, giving a few taps on the keyboard. The overhead projector splashed a topographical map of West Virginia onto the far wall. Fury stood and gestured in the direction of the map causing it to zoom down into a valley. “A coal processing facility for a defunct mine. You'll be able to take a QuinJet to the local area, but your approach will have to be on foot. The road is patroled and the terrain makes flying out of the question, even if you could allow them to see that whoever was doing the rescue had a QuinJet.”  
Barton and Romanoff nodded in concert.

Another flick of Fury's wrist and several images lined the borders of the map, showing shipments of crates bearing labels marking them as hazardous materials, as well as photographs and mugshots of some of the militia members. “Some of their recent activity has us under the impression that these guys aren't just in the firearms hoarding business. They're also manufacturing, both ammunition and explosives. So I don't need to tell you that gunfire and fancy arrows are probably a bad idea until you've got the lay of the place, or at least have gotten Coulson out.” 

“Understood, sir.” Romanoff answered, mechanically.

“You can have your pick of the Triskelion armory and hangar. I suggest stealth over force, but you'll likely need some of both.” Fury continued. “Maria Hill is doing a thermal sweep of the compound, and I should have the numbers and a rough sketch of the building's layout for you within two hours. I'll upload that info, along with the raw data we received from the original team to your tablets.”

“Thank you, sir.” Barton replied with a terse nod.

“I don't think I need to tell you how important discretion is on this mission.” Fury said, returning to his desk. “We could start a national incident if this gets out. Nothing more needs to come to light. So I'm giving you... unofficial authorization. If you have to use lethal force to get to Coulson, do it. But do your level best to get me Senator Alberts alive. I think he and I and the World Council need to have a chat.”

“Yes, sir.” Romanoff answered.

“I also don't think I need to tell you how important Phillip Coulson is to S.H.I.E.L.D. I don't need to tell you because you know, first hand, how great an asset he is to us. No amount of training made Phil as good as he is. Sure, his innate skill set is more subtle in nature, but it makes it even more valuable. It is something that simply cannot be trained. I want him back. And I'm sending you because I know that you're the only ones who want him back even more.”

“Understood, sir. If there's nothing more, we'll go prep and await your file transfer.” Barton answered, as he turned towards the door with Romanoff following suit.

“I'm sorry.” Fury said, his deep voice gone very quiet. Both agents halted in the doorway. “For what it's worth at this point. I shouldn't have split the three of you up. No one expected a response that swift and violent, but I should have listened to you and sent all of Strike Team Delta. I tried to be slick. I gambled and I lost this time in a big way. Just, tell me I have an ace up my sleeve? Bring me back my agent. I don't really care what you have to do to do it.”


	2. Conscience Does Make Cowards of us All

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes its title from Hamlet by William Shakespeare.
> 
> No serious content warnings for this chapter. Just some angst and canon-typical violence.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Feedback, kudos, and comments are always welcome. Enjoy!

An hour later, and Barton and Romanoff were airborne, squinting against the glare of the setting sun as they hit cruising altitude.

“We'll be there in a little over an hour. Looks to be clear skies the whole way.” Clint said, letting the joystick slip out of his grasp as the autopilot engaged. He stood and crossed to where Natasha had spread out all their intel on the work table. “I've entered coordinates for our LZ, but I'm going to fly us in manually, in case they have anti-aircraft. I doubt they do, but I don't think we can be too careful at this point.”

“Agreed.” Natasha replied, not looking up from her tablet as she flicked through the faces of the known militia members. He knew that look. The laser focus. The clipped replies.

“Talk to me, Natasha.” Clint said softly, placing his fingers on the top edge of her tablet and pulling it down away from her face. 

Her expression was pinched and guarded as she looked up at him. “Do you want to start with our insertion plan?” she said blandly.

“I want to start with what's worrying you about this.” Clint replied, straddling the chair beside her. “You've been on edge since Coulson got the assignment, but I've not seen you this uptight in a very long time.”

She huffed out a little sigh. “I've been worried this would happen.” she said softly.

“That's a valid fear.” Clint assented. 

“No... I mean that we would have to go in and save him. And...” she sighed and looked away. “The fact that Fury gave us carte blanche scares me.”

“Why?”

“Because... I'm not sure his permission matters to me.” she answered, clearly choosing her words carefully. “And it would be the same if it was you in that compound. Nothing, but nothing, would be left standing if where they chose to stand was between me and you. Maybe even if they just happened to be there. This isn't a mission, Clint. This is vengeance.”

“I feel the same way. Why does that scare you?”

“Because “carte blanche” means something different to you. It's... special. An exception. But it is how I was trained to operate. That's what they teach you in the Red Room. People are obstacles or objectives. And... I know right now, everyone is comfortable with that. Neither you, nor Fury care if we just burn that compound to ashes, so long as we got Coulson and Senator Alberts alive. And even the latter is negotiable. Hell, everything is negotiable, except Coulson. We're all on the same page but... my page has more writing on it. I've done “carte blanche” missions, and believe me when I tell you the memories from those take up a good chunk of my therapy sessions.”

Clint swallowed, not really knowing what to say.

“We're going to get him out. I'm not afraid of us being too late or anything like that. Hill's scans show he's being held in the furnace room underground there,” she pointed to a red smudge on the thermal scan she had displayed on her tablet. “But, it's the aftermath, and... I'm scared of both of you seeing me like that. Seeing... what I was come out.” her voice cracked on the last word and she hastily covered her mouth.

Clint leaned forward pulling her into his arms and pressing his face into her hair. “This is why you didn't want him to go.” Clint breathed. “This is what you were afraid of.”

She nodded shakily and then pulled back, surprising Clint with dry, clear eyes. “Promise me that when this is over, you'll tell me that you still love me.”

“Tasha, sweetheart...” he caressed her cheek with the ball of his thumb.

“Promise me,” she implored. “That you'll look me in the eye and tell me. That... this monster was worth saving.”

For half a second, Clint thought about arguing her use of the word “monster.” But now was not the time. 

“I promise.” he answered. She dropped her head to his shoulder and let him hold her until the golden sun had sunk below the horizon. Then he felt her take a long breath and push herself upright, grabbing her tablet again. “You were right... we should talk through a plan.”

***

By the time they landed the QuinJet and hiked to the ridge overlooking the compound, it was well and truly night. The air was still and a low blanket of thick clouds shrouded the sky and mountain tops alike from view. The late summer humidity, with its attendant mosquitoes, clung to Clint and Natasha like a second skin. 

They found that the compound itself was hardly a covert affair. Bright halogen lights blazed and generators growled noisily in concert with the constant drone of cicadas. Only a handful of guards were posted outside, all loitering casually at their posts, weapons hanging loosely at their sides.   
Barton lay flat, mostly out of instinct, and pulled a pair of binoculars. “I count four guards on the roof, and two out front.” he whispered.

“Hill's scans of the area didn't show any patrols in the woods?” Romanoff asked casting her eyes around the trees.

“No.” he answered. “Just patrols on the roads. Makes me certain that they're being protected from the outside, at least in terms of their location.”

“Senator Alberts is believed to be here?”

“Fury thought so. Intel shows that he's on a leave of absence from DC for campaign purposes, but he hasn't shown up in his home state.”

“And we're to bring him back alive.”

“Yes, if possible.”

Romanoff took a deep breath. “So our plan stands. I'm going in the front. You're going to cover me from out here.”

“Correct. I'll clean the place off so we won't have to worry about getting shot in the back while we escape. Then, I'll come inside behind you and catch up.” Barton said.

“And I'm going to kill the guys guarding the door, go inside, and murder everyone I see except the Senator and Coulson.” she continued, her voice far to bland for her words.

Clint looked over at her. She wore the same blank, stony expression he had seen in the intel photographs of her... back when she was just a mark to him. Natasha held his gaze for a few seconds and then quickly leaned forward to press her lips clumsily against his.

“What was that for?” he asked, trying to smile against the worried knot twisting in his stomach.

She just shook her head, before she silently started doing last checks of her gear.

“Hey, hey.” Clint reached out and stilled her hands. Her eyes flickered up to his face but she couldn't make herself look at him, so he took her chin in his gloved hand. “Look at me.” he said, rather more forcefully than he ever liked speaking to her. “We are going to be okay.” he promised. “We are going to level this place, and feed Alberts to Fury. And we're going to get Phil, and bring him home where he belongs.”

She inclined her head, leaning into his grip just slightly. “I just hope I'll still belong there when we're done here.” she whispered. Then she stood before he could reply. “We need to go.”

“Then lets go.” he said, dropping his bow across one shoulder and heading for the nearest tree.

The guards outside the compound doors may as well have been wooden ducks at a carnival shooting gallery. They didn't even see Natasha until she wandered into the pool of light shining out from the stark white security lights that flanked the doors. They all recoiled and went for their guns, but Natasha was faster, catapulting herself forward and sinking a knife in their throats before kicking their weapons out of reach.

A hoarse shout rang out from the roof, but it was quickly choked off by an arrow through the wind pipe. Natasha glanced back to the trees, her eyes hollow and purposeful as a chillingly familiar calm fell over her mind. She couldn't see Clint but she knew he was there. A distant thing. Now just a calculation in the equation of the mission. She gave the trees and their concealed archer a terse nod before disappearing inside the compound.

Clint wondered for the briefest second if everything was about to change. If he was watching everything he and Phil and Natasha had built together dissolve back into the separate pieces they had all once been. But he shook his head. They were stronger than that. All three of them were.  
And he had some guards to kill as they galloped over the roof towards the entrance.

***


	3. Wherein Thou Seest Me Masked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for heavier-than-canon violence, gore, and mentions of torture and suicide.
> 
> Chapter title is taken from Shakespeare's Coriolanus. 
> 
> I'll be at Dragon*con this weekend, so that's why this chapter is a little early. I'll be lounging around the Avengers Ball in a SHIELD agent costume if anyone wants to come say hi!
> 
> Thanks as always for reading!

Romanoff closed the door behind her, but didn't bolt it in case Barton opted to follow her into the compound that way. And it wasn't like he was going to let anyone else follow her in by that door. 

She found herself in what looked to have been a receiving room back when the facility had been functional. It was furnished with a desk made of warping gray wood and a wall of pegs that had once held the punch cards of the factory workers. Now, the room was scattered with half filled boxes of ammunition and partly disassembled rifles. No sooner had she looked around then three of the militia guards came sprinting in the room like a pack of overzealous retriever dogs. And they all had weapons drawn. 

The first didn't even clear the doorway before he was met with a throwing knife to the throat. He immediately collapsed into a heap of twisted limbs flailing uselessly in a growing pool of blood. His partners fumbled to make it over him without falling, buying Natasha enough time to vault herself at them, kicking their guns free and slipping her bowie knife between their ribs.

She barely broke stride as she stepped over their twitching, bleeding forms, and into a long, metal walled room full of rusted silos. Probably where the coal was kept back in the day, she registered coolly. She didn't have long to contemplate as the commotion in the entry way had drawn the attention of what could only be described as an ogre of a man.

He easily stood almost seven feet tall, and his head was shaved to an almost varnished sheen. Every inch of his unnaturally bulging arms were covered in the hazy, blue-black scrawl of what were obviously prison tattoos. Even from twenty feet away, Natasha recognized some of them as white supremacist symbols.

“Pity I don't have to get information from him.” The thought slid easily across Natasha's mind. “I'd peel those symbols off of him one at a time.”

She narrowed her eyes and sized her opponent up as he did the same, though obviously with far less care. He made a show of flexing his thick fingers around a pair of brass knuckles as he scoffed at her. “Hello darlin'.” he growled in a lazy southern drawl. “You should know that I'm not above showing a little thing like you her place, right?”

“Are you now.” It wasn't a question. Natasha felt her own accent returning unbidden to slither through her words like a venomous snake. They were about five feet apart now and began circling.

“Oh yes. Just like I did with the rest of those fucking spooks you sent after us.” he replied. “I won't use a gun on you though. I'll just pound that pretty face of yours into mulch, and leave you to the coyotes.” He lunged at her, and he was surprisingly quick for his hulking size. But not quick enough. Natasha nimbly dodged his charge, pulling her second bowie knife as she twisted out of the way. He pivoted in time to connect one armored fist to her chest, and Natasha felt a rib crack under the assault. She slashed at the attacking arm, but succeeded in slicing only air and allowing herself to be reeled in by his other hand.

Natasha let him see the fear on her face as he laughed at her. She could smell the rotten teeth in his mouth under the stink of his cheap, drug store cologne. She struggled for a while, letting him think he'd felt the full force of her strength, before suddenly wrenching in his grip. She twisted her wrist and drove the bowie knife up through the underside of his throat. The crafty move rewarded her with a shocked gurgle and a shower of warm, thick blood across her face as she ripped the knife free, slicing one carotid on the way by.

He didn't collapse all at once, like his other comrades. He took his time to fall to the ground, covering Natasha with a long spray of brilliant red blood. She didn't move, or flinch, save to lick the blood from her lips and then spit on the ground next to his crumpled body.

The sound of someone clapping slowly echoed off the walls and had Natasha casting about for the culprit. Senator Alberts was emerging from the stairwell on the far side of the room, wearing a sharply cut light gray suit and an arrogant grin fit only for politicians and car salesmen.

“Well, well.” he taunted. “I should have guessed that S.H.I.E.L.D. would send you. I suppose that answers that question.”

“What question?” Natasha asked, spitting on the ground again as she stepped over the giant's now motionless body.

“Whether or not they planned to kill me.”

“I'm not here to kill you.” 

“Oh no? Then why would they send their best assassin? I know about you and your oh, so colorful past filling in as the Angel of Death for the KGB.” Alberts crooned. “Your friend... Agent Coulson? He's had a lot to say about you. And your feathered friend.”

“You'll pay for anything you've done to him.” Natasha snarled, her grip tightening on the grip of the knife. She felt blood squish between her fingers and seething hatred curling in her stomach, and she let it fuel her. “And for the agents you killed at the comm center.”

“And what about the men you've killed?” Alberts retorted haughtily. “You stand here, literally bathed in their blood, and you act like I'm the villain? Just how exactly were you planning on making me pay?”

“I'm taking you back to S.H.I.E.L.D.” she answered, flatly. “Nick Fury's orders.”

“Ha. That's what you think. I'm not going anywhere with you.” He replied with a short cough of laughter. He gave and odd flick of his tongue before revealing that he was holding something in his teeth. 

Natasha blinked and squinted.

A cyanide capsule.

Shit.

She couldn't make it in time on foot. She didn't have a throwing knife in easy access. She didn't have time to grab a gun, and even then what would she shoot? Even if she had Clint's aim, from this angle she'd still kill him. 

Shit.

A soft whistling sound split the still air of the compound and Senator Alberts gave a thin scream of surprise and pain. An arrow pierced his cheeks in a fine spray of blood, knocking the capsule free along with a few of his teeth. Natasha looked up to see Clint crouched on a catwalk some twenty feet above her, wearing his trademark smirk.

Alberts fell to his knees, malformed cries flowing from his maimed mouth as he clawed at the arrow. Natasha quickly moved to secure him. Once he was tied to a support beam, and the arrow was none to gently removed from his face, she turned to see Clint coming towards her.

He stopped, really looking at her for the first time and his eyes went wide. Through the numbing adrenalin-fueled haze, Natasha felt cold tendrils of dread clutching at the pit of her stomach. It was all she could do to resist the urge to hide her bloodstained face, even though she knew it would do no good.

He had seen her. And Coulson was going to see her. 

“Are you okay?” Clint asked gently, sensing her unease.

“Fine.” she answered more coldly than she meant to as she wiped the blood off her knife with the last clean patch on her uniform. “Cracked rib. None of the blood is mine. Are you injured?”

“No, no...” he paused looking like he was going to say something else, but he swallowed those words. “I'm good. Lets go get Coulson.”

The pair of assassins crept down the metal stairs into the basement. Clint had his bow already half drawn, and Natasha was palming two throwing knives she'd pulled from the top of her boot. But after a quick scan they found half the basement was filled with nothing but stacks of explosives. And it was deserted save for Phil.

Their handler was chained to an aluminum table, half conscious and stripped to the waist. Dark purple bruises painted his ribcage, and his short, gasping breaths told of multiple possibly broken ribs. Beside him were buckets and dirty rags. Clint took a hissing breath when he saw them and had to visibly fight not to be ill.

“They water boarded him.” he muttered, before breaking out in a sprint towards the table, leaving Natasha frozen by the stairs. “Coulson? Phil?” He took his boyfriend's bruised face in his hands, letting him feel the rasp of his archer's glove on his cheek. “Phil, it's Clint and Natasha... we're here to get you out of here, sweetheart.”

Phil rallied and let out a saturated cough. “Clint?” he managed, opening his eyes and squinting against the bright fluorescent lights overhead.

“Yeah, babe, it's me.” Clint smiled, even though tears were pooling in the corners of his eyes. “We're here to take you home.”

“You and Natasha? Where's Natasha?” he asked, his voice thick and ragged. He arched around on the table to try and see her, hissing in pain when he moved too far.

“She's-” Clint looked back to find her circling the room, obviously cataloging the explosives and equipment. “Natasha, he's ask-” she snapped her head towards him and gave the faintest shake. 

“I can set up a timed detonation of all this.” she told him, her voice flat and barely audible over the hum of the lights. “I'll haul the Senator out of here. You get Coulson. I want to burn this place.”

A thousand thoughts buzzed through Clint's mind but he quashed them all with the urgency of getting Phil out of here. He turned back to him. “Come on Phil, I'm going to pick these locks and then we're going to get you out of here.”

“The senator?”

“Tied up upstairs.” Clint said, talking around the pick he was holding in his teeth. “Fury wanted him alive.” He studiously tried to ignore the sounds of Natasha rummaging around for detonator parts. After a moment or two of work, the padlock came free and he slipped Coulson's wrists free of the metal cuffs. “Easy. Go easy, Phil. Move slow.” Coulson gritted his teeth as he lowered his arms. “I'm going to help you sit up okay? Don't strain, just let me pull you. Okay, ready? One... two... three...” Coulson folded upright, but not without a considerable cry of pain. “Are you hurt anywhere other than the obvious bruising?”

“Think my ribs are cracked.” Phil answered.

“Yeah, I was afraid of that. We'll get you some pain meds when we make it back to the jet. Do you think you can walk?”

Phil nodded stiffly. “Where... where is Natasha?”

“She's rigging this place to blow when we leave.” Clint replied, putting on a false smile and being glad that Phil was too out of it to see past it. “She and that asshole congressman are going to follow us out. Come on... on your feet.” He helped Coulson stand, turning him tactfully away from where Natasha was working. “We're going to head upstairs,” he called to her. 

“60 seconds and I'm following you. We'll have five minutes to clear the building.” she replied mechanically.

“Hear that?” Clint chimed, doing his best to remain upbeat. “Four minutes to get out the door. Let's hustle.”

Natasha and the well restrained Senator Alberts were tight on their heels as Coulson and Barton exited the compound. “Double time, guys. Unless you want to be blown to hell along with this place.”

Alberts turned back to sneer at her. “Certainly would be better than you deserve.” His smooth drawl came out mangled by his injured mouth. “You think they're going to-”

Without thinking, Natasha flipped the pistol she had trained on him and struck him hard across the jaw with the butt of the weapon. “Another word and I will claim self defense. Walk.” she growled before grabbing him and breaking into a trot to catch up with the others.

A second later, a deafening boom erupted behind them, as the explosives under the compound blew. Natasha turned to watch it burn for a moment, the fire reflecting brightly in her eyes in contrast to her face, emotionlessly masked in dried blood.

There was even less conversation on the QuinJet. Clint saw to drugging Phil as soon as they arrived, which had him knocked out in no time. Alberts had deigned not to speak, much to everyone's relief. But Natasha wasn't talking either, and it made Clint antsy. Still, he had bigger fish to fry, like stabilizing Coulson and fighting the urge to play kickball with the senator's testicles.

***


	4. Out Damned Spot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for blood, discussion of past trauma and manipulation, and discussion of torture.
> 
> Chapter takes it's title from Shakespeare's Macbeth.

When they landed at the Triskelion, everything was a blur. A full dozen armed guards and one medic saw to Senator Alberts's removal from the QuinJet. Clint was somewhat relieved that they weren't to interested in fussing over his injuries at the moment. And he truly hated that he wouldn't be there when Alberts and Fury had their little chat, but he supposed an arrow to the face would suffice for personal vengeance. Clint would be telling the story about shooting the cyanide capsule out of his mouth for awhile. Half a dozen medical staff descended upon the unconscious Coulson and whisked him away to medical, with Clint trotting along behind like a nervous mother hen. 

It wasn't until Coulson was settled in the med bay that Clint realized that Natasha was no where to be found. None of the medical staff had seen her come in. The last person to see her was the landing crew in the hangar. And no one was allowed in to see Alberts until Fury paid him a visit, so he knew she hadn't followed the Senator's escort. Clint checked the dorm, where she still kept a room, and the gym, but he didn't find her. And more worrying still, she wasn't answering her phone.

Clint circled back through the med bay to check on Coulson. Satisfied that his partner was comfortable and sleeping soundly, he gave his best murder face to the charge nurse before heading to their apartment. The door was unlocked and all the lights were off except a thin stream of light coming under the door in the master bath. Clint leaned his ear against the door, and didn't hear the shower running, so he knocked.

“Tasha?” he called when there was no answer. 

A wet sniff was the only reply, so he cracked the door and peeked inside.

Natasha stood before the bathroom mirror, bracing herself over the sink. She was still in her blood-soaked tac gear, and her face was still coated in blood that had dried so much that it cracked like plaster. Her green eyes shone like knife points out of her grim visage. She made no move to acknowledge Clint's entrance. She only stared, unblinking, at her ghastly reflection.

Clint slipped in the door, wetting his lips but arriving at nothing to say. He approached her cautiously, not sure if he should touch her or even be near her. When he stood just over her shoulder, looking into the mirror at their reflections, she spoke.

“Tell me what you see, Clint.” her voice was just a husk. Thin and small in a way that he had never heard before. Not even in Moscow when she had asked if he was going to kill her.

He swallowed hard, knowing a lot was riding on this answer. “Tell me what you see.” he asked, fighting to keep his voice even. He still wasn't touching her, even though he desperately wanted to.

“I see what I was.” she replied, her brow pinching into a frown as she stared at herself. “I see the assassin that the Red Room made. The one with no real name. The one with scars on her wrists from the handcuffs, and blood on her face from...” her voice cracked and she doubled over with a choked sob. “I see the weapon. The one made for jobs like the one we just did. The one they used when they didn't care if anyone survived... including me.”

Clint couldn't help himself then. He reached out, encircling her in his arms, heedless of the fact that the blood stained his own hands and clothes. He breathed a sigh of relief when she didn't fight him. “That's not all you are, Tasha.” he said firmly, but gently. He slowly turned her away from the mirror and tipped her face up to his. Her eyes sparkled with tears that were spilling down her stained cheeks. “It's not even all you were. You are so much more than what they made you.” he told her. “You're more than a set of skills. If you weren't, you wouldn't have gone after Coulson.”

“Fury sent us.” she argued weakly.

“Bullshit, Tasha. You said yourself would have gone, with or without Fury's orders. Probably without me if I was out of commission. You burned those sons of bitches because they were between you and Coulson. They taught you to fight like that in the Red Room, sure. But they didn't teach you to fight for the people you love, I'll wager.”

She just shook her head, hiding her face against Clint's chest. “I just didn't want him to see me like this.”

“Then lets get you cleaned up.” Clint replied, giving her a tight squeeze, forgetting momentarily about her injured rib until she reminded him about it with a sharp hiss. “Oops... sorry.”

She just smiled wanly up at him. “How was Phil?” 

“Drugged to the point of seeing pink unicorns.” Clint answered as he started the shower. “But the x-rays didn't show any serious injuries. He should be home by morning at the latest.” The room began to fill with languid curls of steam as he started helping Natasha out of her tac suit. The normally supple material was stiff with dried blood. He worked without comment, even though she ducked her head and muttered something about being sorry. Part of her words were lost in the roar of the water. As she stepped into the shower, Clint rid himself of his own tac suit and hearing aids, and climbed in behind her.

Natasha was looking dazedly around for soap and sponge, but Clint got to them first. “Let me.” he whispered as he lathered a healthy dose of shower gel in the sponge. She went completely still, letting him swipe the suds over her body, cleaning away the blood and sweat of the mission, leaving her skin pink and shiny under the coating of frothy bubbles.

Clint switched to a washcloth to clean Natasha's face. He cupped her chin as he carefully wiped away every bit of the blood caked onto her skin. She stared up at him with wide, child-like eyes as he worked. He smiled at her all the while and then he leaned down to kiss her chastely. She was still at first, but then to his relief, he felt her sway against him, fingers crawling over his shoulders as he parted her lips with his tongue. She pressed the long line of her body against him and clung to his shoulders like he was the edge of a cliff.

They might have stayed like that for forever, limited hot water be damned. However, what ultimately chased them out of the shower was Clint's phone ringing. He felt Natasha stir and looked up with a frown to see her sign “Phone” which sent a sodden Clint scrambling for his hearing aids.

“Barton” he answered breathlessly as he groped behind him for a towel. Natasha held one out to him and when he grasped it, their eyes locked for a moment. She felt herself smile, an irresistible pull of her lips however faint and buried, before she disappeared back into the shower to shampoo her hair.

“Uh.... uh yeah.” Clint went back to the phone conversation as he wound the terry cloth around his waist. “Sure you don't need me to-... no she's fine... She's here with me. We're both back at the apartment.”

Her freshly cleaned hair hung down her neck in sodden ropes as Natasha drifted back to the mirror. She swiped her hand through the film of moisture that had collected on its surface and the look on her own face shocked her. Pink skin flushed from the hot shower, scrubbed clean of everything that had transpired. There was barely a lasting mark. Just the bruises on her ribs and even those would fade in a week or so. Is this what had happened when she had joined S.H.I.E.L.D.? Had they made everything from her past just go away? Remade her?

“Okay, we'll be here.” Clint was wrapping up the conversation. “Thanks, Boss.” he hung up and set the phone on the counter. “That was Fury. He's bringing Phil home. He was mostly just dehydrated and in shock when we found him, so it made him seem worse off than he was. Apparently, since he's no worse for the wear, they wanted to get him home. Something about his partners being nuisances to the medical staff?”

“Can't imagine.” Natasha replied dryly, not taking her eyes off her reflection. 

Clint nodded but made no further conversation about it. “Feel better?”

She gave a small nod, still not looking away from her reflection.

He just watched her for a few breaths before softly asking, “Tell me what you see.”

She cut her eyes to his face with a stricken expression that she quickly schooled with a spy's grace. “I... don't know.” she mumbled.

Clint stepped behind her, snaking his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. “Tell me what you see.” he said again, a smile ghosting at his mouth.

She swallowed and looked at herself, hard. A spy? An assassin? She couldn't settle on anything... on any one answer, and she realized it was because her reflection wasn't what kept drawing her eyes.

“You.” she breathed the word, before turning away from the mirror to face Clint. “I see you. Because... it doesn't matter what I was or what I was doing when you found me. Anything I am now is because... of what you saw.” she trembled a little at the certainty of her words. Her hands curled around the back of his neck and she pulled him in for a kiss. Clint melted against her, bringing his own calloused hands up to cup her cheeks.

“I'm sorry.” she whispered against his mouth. “I don't know why this was all so hard.”

“You're not used to using your skills when there's emotion involved.” Clint shrugged as he pooled her against his chest. “And you said it yourself. Your skill set is... considerably more expansive than any other S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, but we're all trained to keep our emotions out of it. And this is why. We all have horrible weapons at our disposal, and there is a need for our own sanity as well as the moral standing of S.H.I.E.L.D. to keep them in check.”

She nodded, but made no other reply.

“Come on.” Clint nudged her knee with his. “Fury's on his way with Phil and he drives like a bat out of hell. Let's get dressed.”

Natasha welcomed the cozy caress of her fleece pjs after the rough, blood-stiffened tac suit. She had only just tightened the drawstring when there was a crisp knock at the door.

“Sheesh, he's fast.” Clint remarked as he pulled down the hem of his t-shirt.

The front door opened to reveal Fury and Coulson both dressed in street clothes. Clint smiled wearily and let them both in. Phil collapsed into Natasha's arms without restraint, sending her shoulder careening into the wall with a soft thump. She tensed at first, feeling the clutch of her earlier fear, but his complete abandon in her embrace quickly chased that anxiety away. She felt Clint slip an arm around her as he smiled at Fury.

“Thanks, sir.” he said.

“I'm the one that owes the gratitude, Agent Barton.” Fury corrected. “You got me my best agent back. Least I could do was bring him the rest of the way home.”

“Senator Alberts is staying at the Triskelion?” Clint asked.

“For now.” Fury replied. “The World Security Council wants to have a dictionary's worth of words with him. And they'll figure out how to keep this from being an international incident. Nice shot, by the way, Barton. With the cyanide capsule? You're a cold motherfucker when you want to be.”

“Thank you, sir.” Clint replied, his smile broadening. “You did say bring him back alive for questioning, and questioning from you is a fate worse than death, especially if it pertains to the execution of six S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. So, for once, I was more than happy to obey my orders.”

Fury snorted. “I mostly said that because I didn't want Romanoff over here to flay him alive. As much as he deserves it.”

“I'll admit it crossed my mind.” she said softly, one hand curling around the nape of Phil's neck.

“It crossed all our minds, trust me. He'll be lucky if I don't “accidentally” break a bone or three.” Fury responded. He eyed the trio and smiled. “All of you get some sleep. You've got a week of R&R but then Coulson, I'll need you in to help deal with the Council. And you'll all need to debrief, but for now, we'll stow the paperwork.”

“Yes, sir.” came the response from Coulson, muffled by Natasha's hair.

“Good night, agents.”

“Good night, sir.” they chorused back.

 

***


	5. Let Your Indulgence Set Me Free

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is very much NSFW.
> 
> The chapter title is taken from the closing monologue of Shakespeare's The Tempest.
> 
> Thank you as always for reading. Comments, feedback, and kudos are always appreciated! Enjoy!

A weighty silence drifted through the apartment after the door closed behind Fury. Phil continued to nuzzle into Natasha's hair, which was still damp from the shower. She glanced up at Clint who smiled warmly down at both of them, and she wound her arms around Phil even tighter.

“Thank you for coming for me.” Phil said, his words clumsy with exhaustion and pain killers. “I'm... I was certain Fury wouldn't send anyone. Given the... circumstances.” his voice cracked on the last word.

“We would have come regardless.” Natasha told him, smoothing a hand across the nape of his neck. 

“Fury sent us, sure, and we appreciated his support, especially in the QuinJet department.” Clint said, sidling up and wrapping his arms around both his lovers, feeling the pleasant weight of Natasha's head dropping onto his shoulder. “But we were coming to get you. Not our handler.” 

“You'd have done the same for us.” Natasha whispered, more for herself than for him.

“Damn right.” Phil answered fiercely, despite his voice sounding thick and teary. “I would have burned that place to the ground. And I'm not sure I wouldn't have taken the kill-shot on Alberts.” He looked pointedly to Clint. “Or at least let him off himself.”

“Well, he has to face Fury now, after killing half a dozen of his agents and torturing one of his best handlers.” Clint said, carding his fingers through Phil's hair. “He'll be wanting to eat cyanide capsules like tic-tacs.”

Even Natasha had to snort in amusement at that.

Phil raised his head from her shoulder, smiling warmly up at her. “Did you have to go to medical, Nat?” he asked.

“Hmm? Oh, no. Just some bruised ribs, but I'm fine.” she answered ducking her head a little.

“You two are usually joined at the hip giving the doctors a hard time when I'm in the med bay, so I was worried when I didn't see you.” Phil said, shrugging and starting to pull out of her grip.

“We...” Clint faltered glancing at Natasha, and Phil froze mid-motion. Natasha nodded, looking more than a little miserable. “We had a visit from some old demons.” he finished.

Phil immediately pulled Natasha back into his arms, making her laugh a little.

“I'm alright.” she said, though she didn't put up a fight as he drew her into his embrace. “I just... scared myself.”

“I haven't seen you scared in a very long time.” Phil replied, as he caressed her cheek with the ball of his thumb. 

“It's okay. I'm alright, I promise. I just... Everyone was talking about how those bastards deserved to burn. That we could choose to raze the place to the dirt and no one would bat an eye. I've... I've done that. And it wasn't a choice. It was an order.” Natasha dropped her head but Phil caught her lips with his own. He felt her smile into the kiss.

“Thank you.” he whispered into her mouth as Clint pressed a kiss into her hair. 

“You're home in one piece, which is the important thing.” Natasha said, nosing against the rough stubble on his cheek. “I'm pretty sure I would light the whole world on fire to save you. Either of you.”

Phil smiled and buried his face against Natasha's neck again, pulling Clint into his embrace with his free arm. “I want to go to bed.” he said, his words muffled by Natasha's skin. “I want both of you, and I want to go to bed and I don't ever want to leave this apartment.”

“I think we all want that.” Clint said, kissing Phil's temple and smiling against his skin.

“If only we could agree on places to eat this quickly.” Phil remarked drily.

Clint snorted, puffing the fine hair around Phil's ear. “Come on.” he said, dragging Phil and Natasha both out of the cramped entry way, and off to the bedroom.

They made it as far as the foot of the bed before Phil stopped them, reeling Clint in for a kiss with one hand and wrapping Natasha's arm around him with the other. It was intended to be just a peck, but the taste of Phil's mouth after so long apart instantly overwhelmed Clint. He moaned aloud as he threaded a hand through Phil's hair and pulled him in for more.

Natasha could only watch, flooded with a mix of old awe and new relief. She let her head drop to rest between Phil's shoulder blades listening to the wonderfully familiar sounds of her lovers plundering one another's mouths. She took in a long deliberate breath, smelling the harsh sterility of the med bay on his clothes. But under that was the smell of Phil. His skin. His body. Him. Something which, even at a distance, through bulletproof glass years ago, she had come to associate with safety. With belonging and understanding. And with her own humanity. Clint may have caught her eye first. But Phil made her feel like she might have a chance at S.H.I.E.L.D. Like she could plant her feet, and claim this as her place in the world.

Clint broke their kiss to lift Phil's shirt over his head. He hissed through his teeth as he surveyed his partner's handsome collection of bruises. Natasha did the same, ghosting her delicate hands over his mottled skin.

“They look worse than they are.” Phil muttered, a smile playing across his spit-slick lips. “Can I see yours?” He asked as he looked back to Natasha.

She reached down and lifted the hem of her sleep shirt, skimming it over her head to reveal her bruised ribs. Phil frowned and she immediately raised up on her toes and kissed him, not being able to bear him worried about her.

“It's nothing.” she whispered against his mouth, before taking his bottom lip in between her teeth. Clint crowded in close, his hands resting on Phil's hips as he trailed kisses across his bare shoulders.

“God,” Phil hissed, his head dropping back as he kneaded Natasha's breasts, reveling in their softness and weight in his hands. “I want... but... I don't think I could give you the plowing I want to tonight. Broken ribs or no... I'm just...”

“I have an idea.” Clint said, his words tickling across the nape of Phil's neck, raising goosebumps on his skin. “If Nat doesn't mind spending a little time on her hands and knees.”

She smiled, her eyes full of mirth and scheming. “I don't mind.” she replied coyly. 

“Good.” he said, giving Phil's ass an appreciative squeeze. “Phil, go climb in bed and make yourself comfortable against the headboard. Oh... and pants off.”

“Gladly. The S.H.I.E.L.D. med bay clothes leave a lot to be desired in the comfort department.” Phil huffed, stripping the rest of the way down. He was half hard already, and the sight made Natasha involuntarily lick her lips. 

Clint stepped in beside Natasha, sliding one hand along her hipbones. “You feel up to taking care of him tonight?” he asked in a low whisper.

She mirrored his roguish smile and replied, “Only if someone is taking care of me.”

He laughed then, a velvety sound that made Natasha shiver. He reached up and cupped one of her breasts, rolling the already stiffened nipple between his calloused fingers. “I've got you covered, don't worry.”

She made a show of catching her bottom lip between her teeth before following Phil to the bed, peeling her sleep pants off her swaying hips as she went.

Coulson watched her slink towards him with unabashed desire and relief. She crawled up his body like the spider of her namesake, and carefully arranged herself so as not to aggravate either of their injuries. She cupped his cheek and kissed him, just a soft press at first before she began opening his lips like a flower with slow, languid flicks of her tongue. His hands wandered over every inch of her he could reach. Palming her breasts. Smoothing up the flat of her back. Knitting though her still damp hair.

When Natasha's hand slid up the inside of his thigh towards his cock, Phil emitted the filthiest moan as he collapsed back against the pillows. She laughed as she drank in the needy sound. Any other night such a show of desire would have goaded her into hours of teasing. But not tonight. Tonight she wanted to see his face suffused with pleasure, washing away all the lines that had deepened over the past few weeks. She stroked him root to tip with the pads of her fingers, being sure that she caught some of the slick of his precome for the next stroke. On the third stroke, he started fumbling breathlessly as he tried to get a hand between her legs.

“Uh-uh.” Clint chastised, his voice gone dark and rough with desire. They both looked up at him. Natasha grinned wickedly, her hand still lazily dragging over Phil's cock as she arranged herself against his chest. The two of them looked like a feast of debauchery. Like a painting that would have hung in some high end French brothel. Clint huffed out a laugh and shook his head. “Look at you two. How did an ex-carnie like me get so damn lucky.”

“You call getting a middle aged pencil-pusher 'lucky?'” Phil teased, the last word getting a little caught in his throat as Natasha gave his cock a wicked little twist with her wrist.

“Luckier than an assassin with 57 kills and PTSD.” Natasha joined, but her smile wasn't quite so bright.

Clint's expression warmed. He peeled himself out of his clothes and joined them on the bed, snaking one arm around Phil's shoulders and drawing Natasha in for a kiss with the other. “The luckiest.” he whispered, fondly. That kindled the light in her eyes again.

Then Clint turned to Phil and set to work kissing the pleased smirk from his face. Natasha watched them, feeling the warmth and affection bubbling up within her and spreading through her limbs. They were beautiful together. But in a way that always had room for her, so that the insecurity of not belonging had never had a chance to take root. She loved them both for so many reasons, but none more so than that.

She started kissing a trail along the hollow of Phil's hip, lips growing ever nearer to his leaking cock. When she laid a kiss right under the slickened head, Phil moaned aloud and arched off the bed. Clint swallowed the sound eagerly with a groan of his own. 

As Natasha peppered Phil's shaft with tiny licks, reveling in every shudder and cry she could elicit, Clint set to work laying a trail of open-mouthed kisses down his throat before sucking one nipple into his mouth. Then without warning, Natasha sucked his cock into her mouth, making him groan her name with wild abandon before his cries were muffled by Clint's mouth again. She worked his length, slowly relaxing her tongue and throat to allow him to slip further and further past her lips. When her nose was brushing the wiry curls of hair at his base, she swallowed, making him give a delicious full body roll.

Phil tore himself away from Clint's lips. “Nat... Jesus, you're going to make me come doing that.” he warned, his voice high and breathy. She pulled off with a laugh, making him shudder as the sound ghosted over his twitching cock.

“Well, we can't have that before she's been taken care of.” Clint remarked as he moved behind Natasha, pulling her up on her hands and knees between Phil's legs. “You good without your hands?” he asked.

“Oh yeah.” she replied, despite her voice ragged from her labor.

Clint slid one hand along her waist, settling right above the swell of her lovely ass. The other he drew down over the soft, wet folds of her exposed pussy. She arched her back like a cat, looking up at Phil. He was watching her, drinking in every shiver and smile as Clint worked her open, clever fingers flicking over her slick clit.

She shifted all her weight to one hand and reached down to stroke Phil's cock again. She kept her grip loose to avoid over stimulation, much to both his relief and frustration. He bucked into her grip, seeking more friction... more sensation... more everything.

Clint slipped one finger inside of her easily, finding her flushed and eager. And the first twist against that sweet spot, just inside had her begging.

“Please Clint.” she whispered, her words making Phil's cock jump with anticipation. “Please, I... I need...” she trailed off. Usually she was bossy when she begged. Telling her partners what she wanted and how she wanted it and if they didn't get inside her right that instant and so forth. But the words caught in her throat as she stared down at Phil. He was gazing up at her with glassy eyes as if she were the whole world, shivering and panting on the sheets as she teased him. “I need...”

“Need what, Nat?” Clint asked, a smile in his voice. He was steadily thrusting his fingers inside her as he leaned down to lay a kiss at the base of her spine.

“Do you still love me? After...” The words tumbled out clumsily before they got stuck again. She drew a deep breath as she bowed her head and looked guiltily back at Clint. “You promised to tell me...”

Clint stilled for half a second, before he smoothed his hand over her back. He was contemplating bringing her up for a kiss, but Phil beat him to it. He had lifted her chin, brushed her hair out of her eyes, and kissed her. 

“We love you.” Clint settled for saying, calloused hands still sweeping over her back in solid, possessive motions as Phil took her apart from the mouth down. “Can we make love to you and show you?”

She fell away from Phil's lips. “Yes.” she breathed, the words coming out both relieved and broken. “Please.” She crawled her way down his body to lick a long wet stripe up the underside of his reddened cock.

Clint took his aching cock in hand and began to slowly press himself into her. He went slow. Slower than either of them usually liked it, but she hadn't had much foreplay before she was reduced to begging. She moaned as she teased Phil's cock, the vibrations making it jump each time Clint thrust a little deeper. 

“Ah, fuck,” she huffed as he bottomed out. “God, I'm not going to take long at all.”

“Neither am I.” Phil agreed through gritted teeth.

Natasha shifted her weight again, gripping him at the base and sliding him into her mouth. He was so impossibly hard and his cock pulsed with each thrust. The taste and the weight of him in her mouth were enough by themselves to make Natasha needy and desperate. But the slow drag of Clint's cock inside her made her orgasm draw nearer with each thrust.

It crashed over her in just a few moments, making her moan loudly around Phil's cock. He knit his hand in her hair, urging her to take him deeper as his own climax swiftly approached. He came down her throat in a hot, spurting rush and she swallowed down every drop. Watching the ecstasy wash over Phil's face was all it took to tip Clint over the edge. His vision went white as he held himself tight inside Natasha's body, cock pulsing into her as he moaned her name up to the ceiling. 

Natasha and Clint collapsed on either side of Phil, and he lazily gathered them against him being mindful of his ribs. “I could get used to that after a day at the office.” he joked, his words slurring a little.

“If that's 'a day at the office,' I want a new job.” Clint remarked, draping an arm over Phil so that his hand rested on Natasha's hip.

“Same.” Natasha replied, her eyes beginning to feel heavy as she sank down into the bed.

“Thanks for rescuing me.” Phil said, his voice already thick with exhaustion.

Natasha squeezed him. “We always will.” she answered.

“Always.” agreed Clint. “I'm going to lose the aids okay?”

“Kay.” Phil said, eyes already drifting closed.

Clint sat up, removed his hearing aids, and pulled the covers up over the three of them. He might have been asleep before he even hit the pillow, one arm wrapped around his lovers.


	6. Epilogue: Take Arms Against a Sea of Troubles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we end our story... for now at least. I don't rule out a possible continuation of this series, but I think I'm going to leave it here for now.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading and leaving your feedback and kudos. And many thanks to Autumn_Snowe for encouraging my Phlintasha lunacy. 
> 
> Oh... and the chapter title is taken from the "To be or not to be" speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet.
> 
> Enjoy!

Though she fell asleep quickly, Natasha slept lightly as she always did. And so she was woken in the night, by Phil fidgeting next to her in the bed. At first she just thought he was struggling to find a comfortable position because of his bruised ribs, as her own were complaining a bit. But she realized this was not the case when he began gasping in his sleep. 

She quickly sat up, flipping the lamp on before turning back to him. 

Phil's mouth gaped like that of a beached fish as he sucked in air, and his sweat-covered brow was bent in a frightened frown. Natasha fought her first instinct to touch his face. No doubt he was having a nightmare or flashback to being water boarded, and that meant he wouldn't react well to anything near his face or mouth. So she took his hand instead, kissing it and giving it a gentle shake.

“Phil?” she said softly. When she got no response, she glanced over at Clint, who was still snoring. Then she spoke more firmly. “Philip Coulson.” his full name made his eyes fly open, unseeing for a moment before they settled on her face. “Natasha...?” he rasped out.

She nodded and cracked a small smile. “It's me, Phil. Can you tell me what's happening?” 

He took a shaking breath, and clutched at her hand. “I... I'm home?” 

“You're home.” she confirmed gently, placing her free hand on his chest. “With me and Clint. You're safe. We came to get you. Took you to medical at the Triskelion and now you're home in our apartment."

“Safe...” he whispered, his eyes flicking wildly around the room. He spotted Clint in bed next to him, still sound asleep and oblivious. “Home...”

“Yes.” she nodded, keeping her face neutral and the grip on his hand steady. “Were you dreaming?”

He shook his head. “Not dreaming... not entirely. I think... I woke up in the dark. And I couldn't see. It was like... they put me in a hood when they...” His words were choked off as he sucked in a long, ragged breath.

“You were having a flashback?”

Phil nodded, as he tried in vain to wet his mouth.

Natasha pressed her lips together as she considered options. She looked past Phil to where Clint was still sawing timber. Nothing short of a bomb going off was going to rouse him, hearing aids or no. “Can I step to the bathroom and grab you a drink?” she asked.

Phil nodded again and she jumped out of bed to grab him a glass of water. She returned and helped him sit up and take a few sips, steadying his hands when he needed her to. “You're safe at home.” she repeated as she set the water aside. “Tell me what you need me to do to help you.”

He licked his lips again. “I'm... I'm calming down now.” Phil answered, his voice already a little bit more even. “But... can we have a light on? I... know it's stupid for a grown man to-”

Natasha silenced him with a quick kiss on the cheek before she jumped up. “I'll be right back.” she said, scurrying off to the closet. Inside she found Phil's birthday present from Fury that they'd never used but didn't have the heart to throw away: A nightlight shaped like Captain America's shield.

Phil laughed, even through the nerves as she plugged it in and turned off the lamp on the bedside table. It gave off plenty of light to see all the corners of the room without being harsh. 

“Will that work?” she asked. He nodded with a relieved smile as he set the glass of water on the table.

As Natasha settled back into the bed beside him, Phil curled up against her chest. “Ya tebya lyublyu.” he whispered, the words still awkward on his tongue.

Natasha smiled as she drew him close to her, steadying his breathing with her own as he had done for her so many times before. “I love you, too.”  
***


End file.
